An Accident of Stars

EIGHT
THE CUIVEXA & THE SHAVAKTIIN

Iviyat ore Leoden ki Hawy, Cuivexa of Kena, was running away.
Not literally running, of course, which would have attracted

too much attention, but walking as quickly as she dared, head
bowed with pride and fear. Battling nervous energy, she
smoothed her hands down her skirt. Though she’d dressed in
clothes that gave no hint as to her true station – a dark riding
skirt and boots, green scarves at head and waist, a stained cream
blouse and a knotted silk vest – they would still have stood out if
she’d taken the servants’ stairs. Instead, she walked in the open,
trusting to the preoccupation of any passersby to shield her from
notice. So far it was working, but the wing of the palace in which
she lived was, with the exception of those servants and guards
set to care for her, uninhabited. Under Vex Ralan, it had been
where the royal children slept, and as those boys and girls were
now either dead, fled or grown, she had the place to herself. She

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clenched her teeth, shivering with adrenaline and anger. For
neither the first nor last time since her wedding day, she cursed
Hawy’s stubborn blindness, her blank refusal to see the danger in
Leoden that had split their clan in two. Only now, with her
bloodmother’s promises shown to be empty as cicada shells, did
Viya truly understand why Leoden had chosen her: not to flatter
Hawy, but to threaten Rixevet. Your daughter is my hostage.
Stay your tongue. Leoden would never bend to Viya as a
husband should, not even if she were beautiful as thirdmother
Sava and older to boot; not when his heart was so tightly coiled
in Kadeja’s fist that the blood of it stained her fingers.

Reaching the junction that separated her wing from the
palace proper, she hesitated. The doors to the next hallway were
closed, which was usual, but what if they were locked too? With
her guards elsewhere, it would have been a simple thing for
Leoden or Kadeja to imprison her here; a more expedient means
of keeping her out from underfoot than trusting to Viya’s usual
spoiled disinterest. Heart in mouth, she tried the handle and
crowed to feel it turn, peering through the crack into the next
hall. Distant footsteps echoed, accompanied by a ringing shout
that could only have come from Javet, the majordomo. But of
actual bodies, the hall remained mercifully clear, and so Viya
slipped through, being careful to close the doors again behind
her.

She’d slept late that morning on purpose, not knowing when
she’d next have a chance to rest. No servants had rushed to
attend her: in preparation for her planned escape, she’d feigned a
tantrum the previous evening, banishing them all on the pretext

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of some imagined slight and declaring that none were to return
save at her express command. The lie had been believed, Viya’s
temper being as well-known to the servants as it was to the Vex
and Vex’Mara. Ordinarily, such a dramatic fit would have earned
her a royal reprimand, but as she’d hoped, both Leoden and
Kadeja had been too busy to bother, instead content to let her
stew in self-imposed isolation. Now, as she navigated the twists
and turns of the central palace – hiding behind columns or in
doorways when she heard someone coming, slowing her pace
and dropping her gaze when a servant went by – she found
herself touching the bag of jewels she wore around her neck like
she would a favoured talisman. When the habit proved
distracting, she forced herself to stop. As though the meagre
wealth might somehow bring her luck! Viya tossed her head. She
didn’t need luck – not when she was driven by the will of Ke and
Na, the Heavenly Parents.

The further she went, the more Viya became aware of the
size of the palace. How scantly she’d explored! Much of it was
still unknown territory, and with every sudden detour
necessitated by the approach of boots or the skirl of voices, she
became increasingly fearful of getting lost. This ignorance, too,
could be laid at Leoden’s door – even the lowest servants were
granted more freedom of movement than Viya, and at least they
weren’t constantly shadowed by guards.

As she rounded a corner, two servant girls with their heads
together hurried past. It took all her willpower not to react when
one of them looked directly at her and smiled. Instead, she just
kept walking, her breath kept tight in her throat until they were

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out of earshot. Rixevet could do this, she told herself firmly, and
so can I. Would you shame your secondmother, Iviyat? No?
Then keep walking.

Chin held high, she reached a broad flight of stone steps and
rested her hand on the banister. Now came the hardest part of
all: leaving the domestic levels and descending to where Leoden
and Kadeja would soon be feasting their most important guests
and allies in the Hall of High Moons. Not, of course, that Viya
had any plans to pass the Hall itself – both it and the smaller
Gold Room, where the council was taking place, were at the
opposite end of the floor from where she needed to go – but
there would be guards, more servants and possibly even guests
she’d have to dodge. All at once, she wanted to give up. Treason.
I’m committing treason. She let the word fill her like poison
smoke, expanding through her heart and lungs until her whole
body clenched around the threat of death. He wouldn’t kill me,
part of her pleaded, but a colder voice, the one that sounded like
Rixevet, said, Yes, he would. In a heartbeat, if he truly thought
you threatened him. Viya gripped the banister, her fingers hard
against the stone. It’s all the same choice, no matter what I do.
The realisation was oddly freeing. Licking her lips, Viya placed
one foot on the stairs, and then another, and slowly began to
descend.

Predictably, Jeiden was still in the stables, tending to Matu’s
horses – the last expensive legacy of Pix’s former status. Zech

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watched him for almost a minute before making her presence
known. When she knocked on the open door, Jeiden turned and
glared at her, his expression changing instantly from
attentiveness to rancour.

“You again?” he grumbled.
“Me again,” Zech agreed. “How are the horses?”
“Fine. They don’t like being near the roa, though. There were
hardly any up north.” Putting down a currycomb he’d only just
picked up, Jeiden crossed his arms. “What do you want anyway?
Come to gloat about how you’re better at helping Matu than I
am?”
Yes, thought Zech, but remembering her promise, said, “No. I
just… well, Matu said I should come and apologise, seeing as
how we’ll be going north together, and that we should try and
be friends, because it would make things easier for everyone.”
Jeiden made a face. “Did he really say that?”
“Would I be talking to you if he hadn’t?”
“Good point.” Jeiden scuffed a foot on the stable floor. “I
guess we could have a truce then. If Matu says so.”
In a spontaneous show of good faith, he put his right hand
over his heart and kissed the back of his left, a gesture which
Zech, awkwardly and with some surprise, copied. Their usual
hostilities thus suspended, they stared at each other, each one
visibly uncertain as to what happened next. Jeiden even
blushed. He was, Zech thought resentfully, a very beautiful boy.
It was understandable, of course, given that he was Pix and
Matu’s blood-cousin, and yet also frustrating, because in Kena
girls were meant to be the beautiful ones, and by the standards

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of her adoptive nation, Zech wasn’t. Certainly, no one except
Matu had ever told her otherwise, and as he said the same thing
to all women, most men and his beloved horses, it clearly didn’t
count. If she was honest, Jeiden’s prettiness was a significant
factor in her mistrust of him – but then, she was equally certain
that her greater skill with animals, staff proficiency and
possession of the zuymet were part of why he disliked her in
turn. Thinking about it, she supposed that of the two of them, he
had the greater cause for complaint, because while he would
have traded his beauty for competence in a heartbeat, Zech
would never have swapped her talents for prettiness, no matter
how she envied his.

“Who was that girl today?” Jeiden asked suddenly. “The one
who helped you pull Matu up? I don’t remember her.”

“Oh, that’s Safi,” said Zech, feeling pathetically grateful for
the change in topic. “She’s a worldwalker, like Gwen, only she
came through by accident and got lost in the Square of Gods, but
her hair was still long then, and Vex’Mara Kadeja cut off her
fingers and threw them in the fountain.”

Jeiden blinked, impressed. “Really?”
“Really,” said Zech – and then, much to her astonishment,
she found herself telling an enthralled Jeiden the whole story in
detail, beginning with Gwen’s arrival at the compound and
ending with the events of that morning. By the time she’d
finished, her mouth was dry and Jeiden, for the first time in his
life, was looking at her with an expression that approached
respect.
“You know,” he said, glancing around as though they were

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suddenly in danger of being overheard, “I’ll bet everyone in
Karavos is gossiping about yesterday. If we went out, we could
find out what people are saying about the Vex’Mara, then come
back and tell it to Yasha. Just like her little friends do.”

Zech felt a sudden tingle of excitement. Technically, neither
of them was allowed out into the city unaccompanied, but that
had never stopped her before, and nor, apparently, had it
stopped Jeiden. But then she remembered Kadeja’s face as she
cut off Safi’s fingers, and the sharp, hot anger of Gwen and Pix
and Yasha. She wanted to go, but maybe it was a bad idea;
maybe the adults had plans of their own afoot, and she and
Jeiden would mess them up without even knowing it.

When she hesitated, Jeiden flashed her a mocking grin. “Too
scared, are you?”

“I never was!” Zech shot back. But then, because she could all
too well imagine Yasha’s fury if something went wrong, “Only,
what if we make things worse?”

Jeiden snorted. “Worse? You slugwit, what could we possibly
do? We don’t know anything.” And then, more bitterly,
“Nobody ever tells us what’s going on.”

Zech bit her lip at that, because whether he knew it or not,
she did get told more than Jeiden. It wasn’t his fault he’d been
born a boy, and if Pix and Matu had only left him with the rest
of their Kenan kin, it wouldn’t have mattered. But in the
compound, Yasha’s word was law, and her law was always that
of Veksh and Ashasa – and neither that nation nor goddess had
much use for boys. Men, at least, were useful: they could sire
daughters and fight and be put to trades, travel as messengers

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and even provide companionship (though Yasha tended to be
dismissive of this last, to the point where Zech had grown
doubtful of it too). But boys were useless – little more than
stripling men, without even the grace of a blood-day or the
budding of breasts to mark the point at which Ashasa deemed
them adult. No wonder he wants to spy things out, Zech
thought.

It was this realisation as much as the sting of Jeiden’s
challenge that swayed her.

“All right,” she said. “But we have to go now, before anyone
sees us.”

“Really?” Jeiden made a belated attempt to look nonchalant,
but his tone betrayed him. “Which way should we take?”

Zech didn’t hesitate. “Over the rear wall behind the little
kitchen. There’s no windows on that part of the house, and you
can use the wood-box for a boost.”

“You’ve done this before.” He glared at her, but the
expression was more impressed than accusing.

Zech only grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Come on – race
you!”

And then they were off together, sprinting from the stables.

The stairs had a twist in them, turning onto a landing midway
up. If you stood at the bottom of the first long flight, as Viya did
now, you were invisible to anyone coming up from the level
below. She dithered, hidden and hovering for no real reason she

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could name, suddenly afraid to move. It must have been the
guidance of gods: the sound of someone ascending came seconds
later, and when they spoke, she felt the words like a slap.

It was Leoden.
Viya shoved back from the banister, barely daring to breathe.
He was with someone else – another man, by the sound of it –
but she couldn’t tell who.
“…deal with the worldwalker,” Leoden was saying. “She’s
meddled enough, her and the Vekshi crone both.”
The unknown man spoke carefully. “And how will the
Vex’Mara feel, should you take such action against her
kinswomen?”
Leoden gave a hard laugh. “She has no kin. Not anymore.”
Viya’s pulse leapt urgently in her throat, and not just because
the voices were so close. Leoden knows a worldwalker? It was
impossible, of course – or at least, it should have been.
Worldwalkers existed in moon-tales, not the real world.
Didn’t they?
The footsteps had stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut,
picturing the scene: Leoden and his companion standing little
more than a horse’s length from where she hid. Once they
climbed the last few steps, they’d see her, shoulder blades
pressed hard to the wall, as if she could burrow through
backwards.
“As you say,” the stranger said. “At whose feet will the deaths
be laid?”
Viya could almost hear Leoden’s smile. “Why, mine, of
course.”

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The other man sounded startled. “Truly?”
“Well, what other choice do I have? Even as we speak, a
Vekshi spy is creeping her way through the halls of this palace,
slipping poison into the Uyun ambassador’s favourite wine.
Doubtless, he’ll call for a jug of it at the feast, though for the sake
of his table-neighbours, I only hope he won’t offer to share.
Though tragically too late to save the ambassador, the spy will, of
course, be caught and killed – but not before divulging the name
and location of her mistress and fellow co-conspirators.”
“And justice will be swift,” the other man murmured. “I’ll
admit I’m surprised that you’d take no care to capture the
woman who actually wields the jahudemet. Surely she’d be an
asset?”
Dismissively, Leoden said, “I have no need of other worlds.
Kena is our holy place, the founding of our future. You’d do well
to remember it, Shavaktiin.”
The Shavaktiin! So that was who he was speaking to! Viya
shivered to think of him, remembering their encounter at her
wedding. Luy, he called himself, which was no proper name at
all. After that first time, they’d never spoken again, though she’d
seen him about the palace. His facelessness unnerved her almost
as much as his strange religion did.
“My apologies, Vex,” Luy murmured. “I forget myself.”
“Indeed you do.” A short pause. “I should get back. We’ll see
you at the feast?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Be quick, then. We’ve much more to discuss.”
And then – Viya could scarcely credit it – there came the

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sound of receding footsteps. Leoden was walking away! In that
moment, her relief was so great that she forgot the significance
of Luy not going with him, that the Shavaktiin would soon
resume his progress. She could have retreated back from the
landing, made it look as though she was only just coming down,
but she didn’t move in time. When Luy ascended the second
flight, he saw the Cuivexa for what she was: a frightened, guilty
eavesdropper.

“Well!” he said, looking her up and down. Or at least, that’s
what Viya assumed he was doing. Like all his kind, the
Shavaktiin wore a long veil over his head and face, with only a
mesh to see through. His flowing robes likewise left his body
shapeless and concealed, so that all you could ever see of him
were his hands. And yet she could feel him staring at her,
invisible eyes watching from behind a one-way screen.

Viya’s throat was dry with terror. All Luy had to do was grab
her or shout, and then she was ruined, her gamble lost before
she’d even made it downstairs.

“Cuivexa Iviyat,” he said, slowly. “What an unexpected
pleasure.” When Viya didn’t answer, he cocked his head, his
blue veil fluttering silkily. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” The words rasped out of their own accord.
She was terrified, but part of her thought, Rixevet would show
no fear, and so she forced herself to step free of the wall and
stand before him, shoulders straight. “I’m leaving the palace,”
she said, startled at her bravery in saying so. “Are you going to
stop me?”

“Stop you?” Luy shook his head. “Why would I do that?

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Don’t answer,” he added, quickly. “It was a rhetorical question.”
He crossed his arms. The motion revealed a flash of his bare
hands, and Viya was startled to see how dark they were – just
like the Uyun ambassador’s. But then, she supposed, the
Shavaktiin came from everywhere, and Luy was a foreign-
sounding name, so why shouldn’t he be from Uyu? And yet–

“You’re going to let Leoden kill the ambassador,” she blurted
out, “but he’s your kinsman, isn’t he? But you asked if Kadeja
would care that he planned to kill Vekshi, so it must bother you.
Mustn’t it?” And then, because even terror couldn’t quite quell
her temper, “Answer me!”

The Shavaktiin chuckled. “The Uyun ambassador is neither
friend nor kin to me. But you, Cuivexa Iviyat ore Leoden ki
Hawy–” and here his tone turned mocking as he delivered her
full set of titles, “–your predicament is the opposite. You have too
many ties, too many obligations – all of them conflicting, and all
of them family. And so you run, to make the problem simpler.”

“I run,” said Viya, stiffly, “to be safe.”
Luy bowed and stretched out a hand. “Then I will help you.”
Viya stared. “Are you going to betray me? Why are you doing
this?”
“I will not betray you. Only and ever, my reasons belong to
the story, and the will of the one who scribes it. Today, that
makes me a traitor to many people, but you are not among
them. Come.” He curled his fingers at her, impatient. “We don’t
have much time. I can help you to the stables, but after that,
you’re on your own.”
“I don’t trust you,” Viya said, accepting his hand, “but I don’t

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have a choice, do I?”
“Everyone has a choice,” Luy murmured. “Now forgive me

for this, but we need to stay close.” Looping an arm across her
shoulders, he hurried them down the stairs. It was unnerving
being so close to someone and yet unable to see their face. His
fingers dug into her shoulder – not painfully, but tight enough to
prevent her escape. “Some are just more precarious than others.”

They reached the lower floor, where servants laden with
platters of food were already en route to the Hall of High Moons.
Viya kept her eyes on the floor. The Shavaktiin moved quickly,
navigating their way down a series of corridors, past several
high-ranking guests – none of them spared Viya a second glance,
though she glimpsed them from the corner of her eye and
recognised their faces – and then out into a long, glass-fronted
walkway that faced onto the south gardens.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Viya clicked her teeth.
“Slugwit, the horses are in the north stable!”

“I’d advise against it,” Luy answered, voice low. “Horses are
for nobles or soldiers, and you are fleeing in disguise. A horse
would stand out. You’re better off taking a roa.”

“A roa?” Viya couldn’t hide her distaste. “One of those
shaggy, smelly beasts? Haven’t you seen their hands?” She
shuddered.

“It’s the better choice, Cuivexa.”
“I thought you said that everyone had a choice.”
“They do, but that doesn’t mean all choices are equally
sensible. Are you acting like a Cuivexa in this, or a spoiled
child?”

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Viya wrenched away and slapped him. It was an odd feeling.
Her palm connected with the cloth of his veil, muting a blow
whose strength had been scant enough to start with. “I am not a
child,” she hissed. “Do not presume to insult me, Luy
Shavaktiin.”

If the slap had bothered him at all, it didn’t show in his tone.
“I’ll take it back,” he said, “if you’ll take the roa.”

Viya grit her teeth. “Done.”
“My apologies, then.”
“Thank you.”
They glared at each other. It wasn’t truly a staring match, as
the Shavaktiin’s eyes were hidden. Nonetheless, he looked away
first.
“Now,” he said, as though nothing had happened, “we’ll have
to pass the guards up ahead. You keep your eyes down, and if I
squeeze your arm, you giggle. Understand?”
Viya made a disgusted sound. “You’d have me pretend to be
your servant lover? That’s original.”
She’d thought to make him angry, disliking the opacity of his
emotions, but in this, as in so much else, she failed. “Some tales
thrive for a reason,” he said, mildly. “Now, come.”
And so they resumed their previous posture: Viya tucked
firmly against Luy’s side, his arm curled around her shoulder.
They kept on down the walkway, turned the final corner – and
there, sure enough, were a pair of honoured swords, guarding
the outside exit. When Luy halted before them, Viya began to
tremble.
“You may pass, Shavaktiin,” said one, “but who’s this little

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